


Please React Responsibly

by sanbika



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, threatened violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanbika/pseuds/sanbika
Summary: Shiro’s done a good job of moving on from his problems. It’s just his bad luck that his past and present mistakes come back to haunt him in the most painful of ways.





	Please React Responsibly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enjayas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjayas/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Please - - - - - - - - Responsibly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577426) by [enjayas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjayas/pseuds/enjayas). 



> I don’t know what it says about me that I keep writing spinoffs of Enjay’s work but I guess it’s because her characters are so well-written and fascinating to me and the ways it reflects real world problems. 
> 
> I hope to publish a couple of non-PR AU fics this month so I’d be tickled if you guys look at those when/if they go up. 
> 
> Please enjoy this little fic - my goal was to help Shiro explain himself a bit while being confronted with the unintentional fallout of his actions. It’s, uh, pretty angsty. But there’s a great tumblr called Baby Animal GIFs if you need an emotional lift LOL. 
> 
>  
> 
> Songs to listen to while reading: Mac Miller - Self Care, Hurt Feelings, Weekend

Shiro had never liked the term ‘walk of shame,’ but walking through the rainy streets of the Komar district after a midnight hook-up with someone from Grindr sure felt like one. Though that probably had more to do with his feelings about the locale and the unsatisfied desire in his heart. 

Despite the luxury developments and sky-scraper hotels, the glitzy window displays of designer shops, and the hip new eateries moving in, he would never feel at ease in this place, with too many ghosts lurking where he didn’t want to find them. After all if you paint and wallpaper and make your house look shiny and new but leave its broken foundation alone, the cracks just continue to spread under the flashy exterior. 

No matter how Lotor, or Mr. LSD wanted to transform himself, this area was built off of an empire of violence, addiction, and pain. And the Komar was just a rebranding of blood money and lies.

A cold drop on the back of his head caused him to pull his hoodie on as the rain started again and he took refuge under the awning of a fancifully deteriorated pub, with a vintage brick front and copper light fixtures. Shiro smiled, thinking of the old dive bar that used to exist a few streets down that most of these new crowds would’ve been too scared to frequent. 

He could still map the old district with its empty warehouses and clubs in his mind. Could look at a street corner and recall which Galra thug should be posted there, keeping watch for rivals and ready to brawl. Whenever a car with darkened windows drove past, it still made his pulse jump and he instinctively looked for corners or doors he could use for cover. 

As he settled and drew himself back from the shades of his past, Shiro realized that it wasn’t the hook-up he was ashamed of so much as the reasons he had matched with this person. Blaze was attractive; a gym-bunny with well-built shoulders and small but defined pectorals Shiro could picture himself bouncing quarters off of. 

And he had gorgeous dark hair that came to a little above his collarbones that contrasted nicely with a pale complexion. His profile pictures showcased him in a cut-off tank and expensive sunglasses as he posed provocatively on a vintage Kawasaki motorcycle. He was just familiar enough that Shiro had felt that same longing and immediately matched with him. 

Blaze was handsome in his own right, even if his nose wasn’t delicate and his eyes were set a little too wide and his jaw a little too round. Even if he was a little taller than he had hoped. Even if he spoke on the phone in a clipped accent because he came from New York. Even if his eyes were a cool blue when they weren’t hidden behind sunglasses.

That last part had caught Shiro’s breath in his throat, making him gasp as he inhaled too fast. Blaze had flashed a coy smile, flushing at the perceived compliment, and pulling Shiro into his apartment by the hand. 

Shiro was good at rolling with the punches and snapped out of his shock as he entered, but for a moment the sight of those eyes had snapped him into the same guilty space he’d been lurking in for weeks. 

He’d matched with Blaze for purely indulgent reasons. He looked a bit like Keith and he was playful and flirty in his messages. Shiro could relax and enjoy intimacy with a completely engaged partner for once; so what if the partner happened to look shockingly like someone he should be forgetting. 

There was no guilt or shame for his feelings, no waiting for panicked texts, no being strung along, no pressure to be anything but open about his interest.

Of course it seemed the universe had a dark sense of humor when Blaze had opened the door and winked at him with those big blues. Thankfully there was a tiny ring of orange around his pupil that Lance didn’t have so as the two men shared some playful banter, bourbon, and kisses, he’d been able to move on and push that shock out of his system. 

But for a moment….for a moment he’d seen Lance in those eyes and the reminder was unsettling. 

Now that he was wandering around the bustling downtown club scene, sated and sore in all the right places, his emotions refused to settle into the same comfortable place his body had. That feeling he’d been all but running from was resurfacing, a cocktail of regret and indignation. 

Shiro knew the way things had fallen apart wasn’t entirely on him, in fact it wasn’t even mostly his fault. It had been a shitty series of miscommunications and missed boundaries but it wasn’t his fault. He had to believe that to get out of bed or even near enough to Allura to hold her. 

And when he thought about it too long, a defensiveness rose up - there was blame enough to go around. 

And Lance hadn’t helped - shit, why had he even agreed to opening things up if he was so insecure? 

_What was Lance thinking?_

Surely things would have shaken out the same way even if Shiro hadn’t gotten involved. Those kinds of insecurities were poison to healthy relationships. But his stomach churned at those bitter thoughts. He was divided between reproaching himself and blaming Lance.

_Your eyes are always too big for your stomach._

His grandmother had told him that a long time ago, with a gentle laugh and he often worried over it. Shiro pushed those thoughts aside, determined to take satisfaction from a successful evening but his mind kept turning to Lance and Keith, Matt and Allura. 

He’d never had a relationship that he couldn’t save with pure honesty. He’d never given up on anyone before. Even now he was certain that Matt and Allura would reconcile someday, grounded in the fact that their relationships could flourish in a new, exciting way. He’d never had this implosion with Keith and Lance, full of rage and guilt and blame. 

Part of the reason he’d been so stunned by Blaze’s enthusiastic gaze was that it had been remarkably similar to the expression Lance made when he was excited, happy, or flirty. Shiro hadn’t seen Lance like that in months, his eyes guarded and cold when they swept past him. 

And as petty as it was for him to think this… it was hard to be looked at like he was no better than trash. 

Shiro hadn’t been through anything like this before and worse, Keith had shared with him that at one point he’d been Lance’s hero…

The rain clattered in sheets against the asphalt, startling him. It was growing colder and he needed to get warm and dry. He knew he should go home but he was so disappointed that these feelings were still churning in his gut. This was supposed to make him feel better. 

Huffing, Shiro pulled out his phone to call an Uber when a sports car sped past, tires shrieking on the wet pavement, sending sprays of water onto the curb and soaking his pants. 

He instinctively tucked himself back against the bar, pulse jumping as he watched the rear lights fishtail wildly before turning sharply into an alleyway half a block down the street. He was distracted by a jumble of adrenaline and anger, before worrying about the driver. 

_Could they be having a medical emergency?_

He exhaled deeply and jogged in the rain to check, shaking off his nerves. A motorcycle passed him and made the same turn, but he thought nothing of it, assuming they were just as concerned about the reckless driving.

Common sense came back to him as he approached the two vehicles, and he slowed, taking in all the strange details. 

The alley was empty of anything - dumpsters, trash, lights, even though there were businesses all around that would generally use a space like this, and it was covered from the rain, almost like a stopping point. The door to the sports car was flung open and the driver of the motorcycle was marching up to the car. 

Strangled sobs echoed from the car and around the alley and put him on edge.

As he got closer, Shiro strained to see in the gloom. But he could tell both the bike and the car were BMWs, and as he got close enough to read the plates, his heart jolted as he recognized it. He’d seen that car before…

_This has to be a sick joke..._

He stopped completely, ice settling in his veins and stomach. Over the rain he could hear someone sobbing and wondered if it could possibly be Lance. Shiro swallowed back his nausea, the buzz no longer pleasant. Should he go check on him? Would he make things worse? 

His body was starting to tremble, from the rain or the cold or his own turbulent emotions, he couldn’t say. He didn’t want to walk the last hundred feet, dreading the idea of making his… friend look at him. 

_Are we still friends… after all this?_

He didn’t want to feel judged and hated. But he knew without a doubt he had to do it. He never could turn away from someone who was in danger or hurt.

_Even if Lance would rather fall off a cliff than accept his help._

He took a few steps forward, praying to anything for the calm he’d need to handle this with dignity.

“Stand back! Hands where I can see them!”

The motorcyclist turned suddenly, a gun pointing directly at him and Shiro’s heartbeat skyrocketed. 

The woman spoke and stood like she was an officer, but nothing in her attire or ride would suggest that she was. She was serious, though, and considering she had a weapon, he thought it best to listen. 

Shakily, he raised his hands, trying and failing at a smile. 

“I’m sorry for startling you. It’s just… that’s my friend’s car and I wanted to see if he is okay.”

The woman didn’t bat an eyelash, just stared him down with an apathetic look to her eyes. 

“That’s not your concern. I’ll take care of him. You need to back up and leave.”

Again, Shiro got the impression that she was in law enforcement. But she had not identified herself. Something felt wrong, both with her use of police vocabulary and the setting. Knowing Lance might be in danger triggered a wave of protective feelings and he leaned into his years of Garrison training. 

He couldn’t leave him alone with this woman. 

Shiro held his arms higher, taking a half-step towards her. 

“Here, you can search me. I’m unarmed. Just, please, let me check on him. I’m concerned for his safety.”

A sour look crossed the woman’s face but before she could move, her phone rang. She paused as though weighing something in her mind before crossing the distance between them, her weapon pointed at his chest. 

She quickly searched him, from his ankles to his arms, before walking back to her bike.

“You’ve got two minutes. When I tell you to leave again, I’m not going to use my words.”

She answered the phone in a hushed voice, her gun still trained on Shiro, eyes unwavering. Still he strained to hear her, wanting to glean any information he could about her unsavory behavior.

Shiro had to fight the urge to swallow or show his fear and was suddenly grateful for his years of experience fighting through emotions. Nothing could have prepared him for the eerie turn his night had taken. 

He jogged quickly over to the silver BMW and dropped to his knees next to a familiar crumpled form, soaking wet, dressed all in black. It was disconcerting to see this woman, let alone hear her talk about Lance like he was nothing. 

“I’m with him now, Sir, he said over the phone he was jumped picking up the package. I think they shoved a gun in his face and roughed him up. Nothing life-threatening.”

Lance was sprawled in the driver’s seat, legs out of the car, bent over, arms twisted around his head. He was crying muffled sobs and almost wheezing rapidly, clearly in the throes of a panic attack. Shiro wished he could change his voice, fearful of how Lance would react to it but he pressed on, mindful of his time limit.

“Lance, I need you to sit up. Take a deep breath. Breathe together with me.”

Lance didn’t say anything, rocking in the same position, like he couldn’t even register the words. 

Shiro’s hands were shaking as he placed them on Lance’s broad shoulders and tried to help him upright. Lance moved bonelessly and as he uncurled, Shiro gasped at the gash and swelling around his right temple and eye. Lance didn’t open his eyes or respond to the movement, or even the sight of Shiro, limp and doll-like in his grasp.

“Lance, please tell me you can hear me!”

Lance finally cracked open his eyes, which were dilated and bloodshot. He looked a horror. In the background he could hear the woman speaking brusquely into her phone, anger simmering in his gut as he realized it was probably Lotor. 

The gash was bleeding freely, soaking Lance’s hair and collar and for whatever reason as Shiro tried to wipe it up with his own shirt sleeve, his stomach sunk with helplessness and sorrow. 

“Z and E are on their way… they’ll deal with them appropriately. What do I do about Loverboy? I’ve got some xan on me that can calm him down… Got it, I’ll have E pick up my bike. See you in five.”

Shiro shook Lance’s shoulders, begging him to focus, to look at him, anything. He remember the last time he cradled him, years ago, wiping his tears and cleaning him up. Something cracked inside him. 

He had no energy to speak but choked on his words, as though he were turned to stone. 

“What are you doing to yourself, Lance?” 

His vision was wet and panic flooded him as he heard the tread of her boots behind him.

“Time’s up. You can see he’s fine. Get out of here.”

Shiro turned to the woman, wiping his face and eyes with a shaky hand.

“Please, take him to a hospital. He’s not okay. He’s hurt… and he’s sick. He needs help!”

Again, the woman looked supremely bored with the entire tableau. She reached down to his jacket and forced him to stand, walking him to the mouth of the alley with the gun steadily pointed at him.

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but he’s going to get everything he deserves and more.” 

She smirked at him cruelly, leaning in so he could hear everything over the street noise. 

“And a word of warning, _Shirogane_ ,”

Shiro’s breath caught.

“Lance is the Galra’s concern now. Leave him alone. Tell his friends to drop him. You’d be asking for trouble by getting involved. And you’ve had enough trouble haven’t you?”

And she shoved him away, her gun now hidden by her jacket, but always fixed on him. 

Shiro stumbled forward, emotions awhirl, and his heart ready to jump out of his chest.

He pulled his phone up as he sped away from the alley, scattered and shaken. Seeing Lance so utterly shattered, memories of his past, his own broken body and the potent danger the Galra represented, overwhelmed him. 

Shiro made his way to the swanky bar, ordering another bourbon and taking deep recovery breaths. The other patrons gawked at him but he wasn’t aware of anything. 

Images flashed through his mind, the dark past he had dragged himself out of looming all around. What about the blood he’d seen spilt, the blood _he’d_ spilt?

A phantom pain thrummed through his shoulder and he grabbed it out of reflex. What if he came home to see a car with shaded windows waiting in his driveway? What if Haggar… or Zarkon… found an interest in him again, came back to torment and torture him? 

What if this life he’d built and was so proud of, what if it crumbled to ash? 

He needed to get away, to find someplace where he felt safe. Draining the glass dry, Shiro could barely think as he forced his trembling hands to type.

S: Matt, can I come see you? ASAP?


End file.
